Malison: Dragon Umbra

by Moeller, Jonathan

For once, Angaric did not have a smart remark. Something in Rincimar’s harsh gaze must have persuaded him to keep his opinions to himself. Angaric nodded, the fireball floating over his hand continuing to grow.

  “They shall hear us coming,” said Charanis.

  “I hope so,” said Rincimar. “They will bunch up and make it easier for Sir Angaric to burn them. And, with respect to your skill, my lady…”

  “Battle mage,” said Charanis. “I am a battle mage of the Republic of Sygalynon. The umbral elves have no nobles.”

  “Then, battle mage of the Republic of Sygalynon, having the muridachs bunched up will make it easier to shoot them,” said Rincimar.

  Tyrcamber expected Charanis to take offense, but she grinned for an instant. “Sensible, lord Shield. Best to kill them all before they can kill you.”

  “Then let’s start,” said Rincimar. He started forward, sword in hand, and Tyrcamber moved to join him. The Shield made no effort to stop him. Tyrcamber wasn’t sure if Rincimar was part of the Dragon Cult or not, but he did know that the death of the Shield during the Chancellor’s parley would cause many problems.

  The light ahead grew brighter, and Tyrcamber heard the voices of the ratmen conversing in the muridach tongue. The vault came into sight, and the muridachs stood talking before the tunnel dug into the brick wall. Some of the muridach warriors turned, their whiskers quivering as they smelled the approaching humans. One of the ratmen let out a screech of alarm, drawing his sword.

  “Now, Sir Angaric!” roared Rincimar.

  Angaric grunted with effort and thrust his hand. The sphere of fire had grown to the size of his head, and it shot forward and landed amid the charging ratmen. It was the Fireball spell, one of the secret spells known to the Order of Embers. Tyrcamber could cast it, and he could put a considerable degree of power into the spell.

  Angaric could put even more power into it.

  The sphere exploded in a snarling bloom of fire that filled both the vault and the corridor with raging harsh light. A dozen of the muridachs were engulfed in flames, screaming as the elemental flames consumed their fur and flesh. A dozen more avoided the explosion, and Tyrcamber saw one of them go down with an arrow in its throat as Charanis raised her bow and released in a single heartbeat.

  “Take them!” roared Rincimar. “Now!”

  The militiamen and the serjeants charged, brandishing their swords. The serjeants loosed a concentrated volley of Lance spells, taking down two more muridach warriors. The surviving muridachs answered with Lance spells of their own, and Tyrcamber worked the Shield spell, deflecting three of the attacks. The strain of it crackled through his will, and the dark fingers of the Malison danced at the edge of his mind, but he held the shadows at bay.

  A muridach warrior rushed at him, screaming, and Tyrcamber met the creature with his sword. The muridach’s weapon clanged against his blade of dark elven steel three times in rapid succession, and as the ratman drew back its sword for the fourth time, Tyrcamber’s blade darted forward and opened the creature’s throat. The muridach toppled to the ground, dying, and Tyrcamber stepped back and looked for more foes.

  But there were none. Three of the militiamen had taken wounds, but none of the soldiers had been killed.

  “Let’s have a look at this damned tunnel,” said Rincimar. “No doubt Tynrogaul will have more warriors awaiting us.”

  They crossed to the mouth of the tunnel, but it was empty, and Tyrcamber could not see anyone in the tunnel, not even when Angaric cast a light spell and shone the glow into its depths.

  It didn’t make any sense. Even for the muridach engineers, it had been a great deal of work to dig that tunnel into the city. They had gone to tremendous effort…and for what? Simply to stage a raid on Mhyarith’s arrival? If they had wanted to drive a wedge between the Empire and the umbral elves of Sygalynon, it hadn’t worked. If anything, the men of the Empire and the umbral elves of Sygalynon would have a mutual enemy in the muridachs.

  So why launch the attack?

  “We’ll seal this up and place a guard down here,” said Rincimar. “The damned muridachs are not getting into Falconberg again.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Tyrcamber.

  But what had been the point of the attack?

  It didn’t make any sense.

  ***

  Chapter 6: Herald of the Dark Elves

  Three days passed without much incident, which made Tyrcamber uneasy.

  There was no further sign of Tynrogaul or the muridachs. The Shield sent patrols across the river, and they confirmed that the muridachs had tunneled beneath the riverbed to reach Falconberg’s sewers, an effort which must have taken weeks. No doubt Tynrogaul had kept his warriors busy digging even as he had gone to Tolbiac to give Michael Gantier the distraction he needed to escape.

  Clearly, Gantier had been in league with Tynrogaul, but why?

  Tyrcamber felt as if they were chasing shadows. He hated that feeling. He had set out to become a knight of the Order of Embers, to face the enemies of the Empire in open battle. Chasing down conspirators and secretive cults was not what he wanted to do, but it seemed that he had no choice. Not all the enemies of the Empire marched into orderly battle.

  Still, for the moment, there seemed to be no threat from the muridachs. Rincimar had ordered the tunnel sealed, and he had sent a party of workmen across the river to close the tunnel’s other entrance. Men from both the Order and the city’s militia patrolled the surrounding countryside, and there was no trace of the muridachs, or of Michael Gantier, or of goblins or kobolds or jotunmiri or any other enemies.

  Lord Chancellor Radobertus met with First Mhyarith in Falcon Hall every day, and sometimes Tyrcamber stood guard in the hall as part of his duties. He remained vigilant, but the duty proved both boring and uneventful. The Chancellor and the First spent a great deal of time discussing the rights to various fields, rivers, lakes, and forests, and just exactly where the boundary between the Frankish Empire and the Republic of Sygalynon would lie. A table was set up, and Radobertus and Mhyarith spent hours arguing (however politely) over a dozen maps. It became clear to Tyrcamber that the Mhyarith did not want the umbral elves drawn into the war against the Valedictor, and she was willing to make concessions to make that happen. Of course, Radobertus didn’t want the umbral elves to side with the Valedictor either, and Tyrcamber supposed it was just a matter of pinning down a compromise that left both sides with an acceptable level of dissatisfaction. His father, no novice in the Empire’s brutal internal politics, said that an acceptable compromise left everyone unhappy but relieved they had avoided a worse alternative, and that appeared true in the Chancellor’s negotiations.

  Tyrcamber saw Rilmael twice in the three days after the fight with Tynrogaul’s warriors. He related his conversations with Rincimar and Vordin and Quentin. The Guardian said that he had found no trace of dark magic in the city and no evidence that Rincimar or any of the aldermen were involved in the Dragon Cult.

  “Then have we been chasing shadows?” Tyrcamber had said. He stood with Rilmael in the courtyard of the chapterhouse. It was a dark night. Thick gray clouds had rolled in from the sea, masking the sky fire, and only a diffuse blue glow leaked through the cloud cover.

  “Perhaps,” said Rilmael. A flicker of frustration went over his alien features. Tyrcamber felt oddly gratified that even the ancient Guardian could feel annoyance at their lack of progress. “We are missing something important. And there is a danger coming. Michael Gantier and Tynrogaul’s raids are just the first drops before the storm.” He sighed, tapped the end of his staff against the ground, and looked at Tyrcamber. “Remain vigilant. It is possible that our enemies might attempt to assassinate the Chancellor or the First. Either death would result in disaster. I will continue searching for any signs of the Dragon Cult, though it is damned frustrating…what?”

  “It is something of a relief,” said Tyrcamber. “I have been frustrated with this business…”

  “It’s good to see
that I’m frustrated as well, is that it?” said Rilmael with amusement. “Well, I have been the Guardian of Cathair Kaldran for fifteen thousand years, so I will tell you something I have learned in that time. The waiting before a battle never gets any easier. It’s almost always a relief when the battle begins…and then after five minutes of fighting, you’ll wish you were still waiting.”

  Tyrcamber laughed and then frowned. “You think this will end in a battle?”

  “Almost certainly,” said Rilmael.

  On the morning of the third day, Tyrcamber stood in Falcon Hall near one of the pillars, not far from where he had spoken with Sigurd Rincimar during the feast. Radobertus and Mhyarith would soon begin another day of discussions, and Master Ruire had assigned Tyrcamber and some of the serjeants to stand guard in the hall and watch the entrances. Tyrcamber watched as the serjeants prowled through the hall, checking behind the pillars and on the balconies to make sure no assassins lay in wait to attack the Chancellor or the First.

  The door to the kitchens near the dais opened, and Tyrcamber turned, his hand twitching towards his sword hilt on reflex. Sigurd walked into the hall, wearing a blue dress with black trim, her dark hair bound back from her face in a long tail. Jewels glittered on her ears and at her throat. She looked around the hall for a moment, her expression distant, and then she saw Tyrcamber and smiled.

  “Sir Tyrcamber,” said Sigurd, walking to join him.

  “Mistress Sigurd,” said Tyrcamber with a polite bow. “I hope you are well this morning.”

  “Harried,” said Sigurd. “My uncle has put me in charge of the meals for the Chancellor and the First.” A mocking smile cut through her calm mask for an instant. “He does not want any men to say that Falconberg lacks in hospitality, especially to a representative of the Emperor.”

  Tyrcamber nodded. “That is wise of him.”

  Her blue eyes weighed him. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Falconberg exists because of the Emperor’s charter, as do all the Imperial Free Cities,” said Tyrcamber. “Without the Emperor’s charter, the Duke of Ribaria would have a free hand to act against the city, as would any other nobles.”

  Her eyes glittered. “Is that a threat, Sir Tyrcamber?”

  He let out an irritated breath. “It’s not a threat, it’s the truth. Nobody wants this meeting to fail, mistress Sigurd. Not the Order, not the Chancellor, not the umbral elves, and certainly not your uncle and the aldermen of Falconberg.”

  Unless, of course, the Shield or the aldermen were part of the Dragon Cult.

  Sigurd sighed. “Of course, Sir Tyrcamber. Forgive me. The last several days have been…quite tense.”

  “Yes,” said Tyrcamber. “You handled yourself well against the muridachs.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You were watching me? Should I be flattered?”

  He found himself smiling. “It’s best to be aware of everything happening around you during a battle. As much as is possible.”

  She smiled back. “Someone had to fight. The aldermen of this city…God and the saints. I am more of a man than any of those spineless toads.” She scoffed. “They claimed they were escorting me to safety, but they really wanted to get away from the muridachs while my uncle and the militia did all the fighting. And the Order, of course.” She smiled again. “Your friend Sir Angaric seems quite taken with me.”

  A flicker of alarm went through Tyrcamber. “He has not offered offense, has he? The Master will…”

  Sigurd laughed. “I have a great deal of experience dismissing unwanted seduction attempts, Sir Tyrcamber. Certainly, Sir Angaric is one of the more eloquent ones.” She shook her head and waved a hand in front of her face. “That appalling beard of his, though. Has that man ever even spoken with a barber?”

  Tyrcamber laughed despite himself. “I confess I do not know.”

  The door to Cathedral Square opened, and a half-dozen umbral elves entered. The First would arrive soon, and then the negotiations would resume for the day.

  Sigurd glanced towards the kitchen door. “Well, I must return to the kitchens and make sure the food is prepared. Good fortune to you, Sir Tyrcamber.”

  “Let us hope for an uneventful day,” said Tyrcamber.

  “I suppose there is a first time for everything,” said Sigurd, and she went back to the kitchens. Tyrcamber watched as she walked away, and once again he found his gaze drawn to the sway of her hips beneath her skirt. He wrenched his eyes away and turned his head to find Charanis standing next to him. She moved in such perfect silence that he hadn’t heard her approach.

  Tyrcamber was pleased he didn’t flinch in surprise. “Battle mage.”

  “Sir Tyrcamber,” said Charanis. She looked at the kitchen door. “The Shield’s niece. You find her desirable.”

  Tyrcamber shifted. “The Shield’s niece is a charming woman.”

  “It seems she finds you desirable as well,” said Charanis. “Why do you simply not take her as a lover? No doubt you would both find the experience enjoyable.”

  The question was so blunt that Tyrcamber was at a loss how to answer for a moment.

  “That would not be appropriate,” he said at last.

  “Why not?” said Charanis. “I assume you are thinking of your church’s religious prohibition against it?”

  “A man is but to lie with his wife and no other woman,” said Tyrcamber. Though he had already disregarded that a few times in his life.

  “What of that?” said Charanis. “Most of your nobles keep mistresses and concubines. Even several of your high churchmen. And if I recall correctly, your scriptures describe how King David and King Solomon had many women.”

  Tyrcamber frowned. “You are familiar with the scriptures?”

  “I have read some of them,” said Charanis. “Soon after I learned your Latin tongue. Humans are, after all, newcomers to this world, interlopers, even. I wished to understand you more. But I am curious why you do not take the Shield’s niece as a lover.”

  Tyrcamber sighed. “Leaving aside the morality of it, such an affair would not be practical. Sigurd is the Shield’s niece, and Rincimar would likely take it ill if she was seduced by a knight of one of the Imperial Orders.” Karl Rincimar was the sort of man who would express his displeasure personally, and Tyrcamber wasn’t sure he could take the Shield in a sword fight. “For that matter, it would damage Sigurd’s standing. Her best chance of wealth and security comes from a good marriage to a noble, and fewer lords and knights would consider taking her hand if she was not a virgin.”

  Charanis snorted. “She is almost certainly not a virgin.”

  Tyrcamber agreed, but he wasn’t going to say that. “That is no concern of mine.”

  Her smile had a sardonic edge. “Perhaps it is not your concern, but the matter clearly seems to interest you.”

  “Are all umbral elves so blunt?” said Tyrcamber.

  “Usually, yes,” said Charanis.

  “If an elven man approached you so…directly, you would not take offense?” said Tyrcamber.

  Charanis shrugged. “It would depend upon the man. If I found him desirable, I might amuse myself with his company for a time. If he was strong enough, perhaps he would make a worthy father of a strong child, and I would retire from the duties of a battle mage for a time until my child was strong enough to look after himself. But if I found the man tedious or weak, I would spurn him.”

  “And if he tried to force the matter?” said Tyrcamber.

  Charanis laughed. “He would learn that in Sygalynon, freedom to do as you will is the first law, but only if you are strong enough to endure the consequences…and the strong do as they please. Perhaps I would permit him to live through the lesson.”

  “That seems a recipe for chaos,” said Tyrcamber.

  “It is,” said Charanis. “But we embrace freedom and all it brings. The dark elves ruled us, and now we do as we please. An umbral elf is free to do as he wishes, so long as he is strong enough to accept the consequences of
his actions.” He shook his head. “You humans with all your rules. The laws of your church, the laws of your Emperor, the laws of your lords. You think these laws and rules will protect you, but they only hold you back. We embrace chaos and conflict and the strength that they bring.”

  “Does that not also bring great destruction?” said Tyrcamber. “I have heard that the umbral elves war upon each other almost as much as they war against other kindreds.”

  “We do,” said Charanis. “The conflict makes us stronger, refines us of weakness.”

  Tyrcamber shook his head. “There is always someone stronger. What if you are one of the weaknesses to be purged?”

  “Then you must become stronger,” said Charanis, “or perish.”

  She said it so assuredly. But Tyrcamber suspected that if she found herself facing someone stronger, she would likely change her mind. The wealthy and the powerful always thought that their riches and strength would protect them, right up until they didn’t. Perhaps Tyrcamber made the same error himself. But he knew that he was mortal, that one day he would die and stand before the throne of the Dominus Christus for judgment.

  “That seems a cruel philosophy,” said Tyrcamber.

  Charanis gave an indifferent shrug. “It is the philosophy of nature, Sir Tyrcamber. Consider a wolf chasing a herd of deer. The slowest and the weakest of the deer will fall to the fangs of the wolf. Perhaps that is cruel, but that is the way of life. The wolf is fed by his strength, and the deer are made stronger as well, for the weakness is purged from within them.”

  “People are not the same as animals,” said Tyrcamber. “The strong should protect the weak, not prey upon them.”

  “Ah, this is the influence of your Dominus Christus,” said Charanis. “He loved the tax collectors and the prostitutes, the widows and the orphans, all the weak dregs of the Empire of the Romans. Can you not see the influence his philosophy has had upon your Empire? Your lords are supposed to protect the commoners and administer justice. Your knights are supposed to defend the people, not prey upon them. Of course, they do not always do so. But that is the ideal you are supposed to follow. The umbral elves have no such illusions. Strength is its own justification and rationale.”